Timely Errors Requiem
by Worfe
Summary: A collections of unimportant, everyday moments missed from the fanfic Timely Errors...and how they change the world as we knew it. Warning, leaps through time expected.
1. Chapter 1

Timely Errors Requiem

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Summary: A collection of oneshots whose purpose it is to answer some of the questions Timely Errors left behind. Does it serve that purpose, can we ever truly know anything about the complications time leaves behind?---that question I will leave for my readers to decide.

Chapter One: Injury

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Alice was supposed to be in Herbology right this very moment. She knew this because she'd been staring at the clock above Frank's bed for the last three hours now and was acutely, almost painfully, aware of each passing second.

Because he wasn't waking up.

In Herbology she'd have been trimming her stupid Tickling Trellis while listening to Professor Pod natter on about fertilizer. What good was all of that, anyway? She'd taken the class because it was a requirement for pursuing a career in healing.

And she'd been so positive that was the job for her. She'd imagined this stupid Florence Nightingale image, cooling sweating brows, easing pain and secretly laughing as silly little magical mistakes wandered into her 'oh-so-loving' care. What an idiot. She'd never spent much time in 's, the curse of having a healthy immune system and attentive parents. But she was realizing now how much she hated it: the sterile light, the crisp impersonal attention, the constant beeping of monitoring spells, the sounds of so much living and dying filling the air it was enough to give her a headache.

And he wasn't waking up.

She hated the place even more for that fact and she knew with a certainty that she'd never be able to work here and forget this feeling, these feelings, these oppressive not-fun feelings that were uncommon and unnatural in her happy existence.

She reached her hand out and rested it on Frank's bed. Somehow the words 'Frank' and 'bed' always conjured up images of different, more pleasing circumstances. But even those fantasies seemed pathetic and so unrealistic. She couldn't even think up a joke to say when he woke up, something suggestive and playful that would make him blush and her heart beat rapidly. But everything she thought of just sounded desperate and sentimental. Her ability to tease him seemed to have suffered a permanent break.

If only she hadn't been so useless when they'd been cornered by those Death Eaters. She'd frozen, her cool head seemed to leave her and it had been Frank and his sudden action and logical choices that had saved her. She had always known he was good in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but the way he'd acted, the way he knew how to protect... protect the things he loved.

She shook her head.

If only she could have protected him the way he had protected her. She wasn't a damn damsel in distress! She was an independent woman with more than enough spirit to match wands with any stupid Death Eaters. She felt like something was starting to boil inside her and she almost wished she was back in Hogsmeade. She was no weakling; she knew some nasty, vindictive spells. She'd like to see how some of those Death Eaters might take the bikini wax charm her mother had taught her.

She slumped down in her chair.

That was pathetic. True, it hurt like--well, like ripping the hair from a tender area, but was that really the best she could do? She'd never learned magic with the aim of hurting people. She felt a little ill that she was relishing such a focus. But something about it was primal and undeniable. They had hurt someone precious to her; she in turn had to hurt them back, hurt them worse, even. Was there anything more basic or right?

His skin still seemed unnaturally pale even though the healers said he was fine and only needed rest to mend from the curse that had sent his system into shock. Merlin, she hated seeing him like this, all weak and unresponsive. Of course, she wouldn't give up this chance for anything, no matter how terrible he looked and how terrible she felt, it was better to be_ here_ than trapped in Herbology.

It had been James Potter who had pointed her to the escape that allowed her current location. Hogwarts student Floos only allowed communication, not travel, and as commiserating as all her professors were about Frank, they weren't about to let one of their teenage charges roam free at St. Mungo's. And her parents had told her she was being melodramatic, pointedly refused to allow permission for her to leave school. But James conveniently mentioned to her that Professor Pod's office was rarely locked; he even gave her the password just in case. (How he knew it was beyond her knowledge or caring.)

And he hadn't even done it when Lily was around, or asked Alice to impart his act of consideration. It was, strangely, nice. Alice didn't think James was quite the prat that Lily did, but she'd never thought of him as a very nice person. Attractive (amazing Quidditch player thighs). Smart, but only in a flashy sort of way. And he was obsessed—or to put it more nicely, dedicated—to Lily. But James had always been sort of a prick.

After what happened in Hogsmeade, he'd seemed a little subdued and had even been observant enough to notice her concern about Frank, and devise a clever way to relieve that stress. It had been....surprising, surprisingly nice.

Frank moved, just ever so slightly, his hand reaching up to tug at the blankets that were wrapped tightly around his form. Alice held her breath.

It took a moment but his eyelids twitched, his eyelashes fluttered, and his eyes blinked against the white glare that seemed to invade the room in a predatory way.

"Hey," he croaked. He looked around his surroundings wearily.

Alice didn't know what she should say. 'Hey, thanks for everything'? It seemed too weak. 'I love you'? The atmosphere didn't call for it no matter how true it might be.

Frank blinked up at her, his eyes crinkling. "Well, I knew you'd have me on my back and at your mercy sometime. No handcuffs?"

Alice started to cry. She hadn't, not through this entire ordeal, not even last night when she'd been in her own bed with the curtains drawn waiting for the tears to come. And the strange thing was she was laughing, too, almost as if her messed up body couldn't decide what it was feeling.

Frank was sitting up now looking at her in concern as if she'd suddenly gone mad, and she just might have.

"He tells a joke," she finally managed to say between sobs and laughter. "I must have the wrong room: he wakes up joking. Frank!"

"I'm sorry, Alice," the boy in the bed said soberly. "Have you been here for long?"

Alice had almost calmed herself now. She reached out and playfully slugged him. "What do you have to be sorry for? I'm just—_sniff_—being stupid."

Frank smiled in a way that made her suddenly feel alive again.

"But I've been thinking things over."

"Have you now?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm going to be an Auror," she declared with a certainty that left her feeling oddly peaceful. "You and I are going to work together to stop this terrible Dark Lord, and I don't want you ever to need to protect me again."

Frank looked at her face. "You aren't going to change your mind about this, are you?"

Alice shook her head resolutely.

"Well, I can't stop protecting you," Frank offered softly, but his voice no less determined.

"Frank." She moved from her chair and stood next to the bed, her face close to his. "I can't lose you, okay? It's either both of us or none of us. Understand?"

"You're annoying," he announced. "You could at least be all mushy and fall into my arms and thank me for saving you."

"Oh, I could, could I?" She looked down at him.

"Yes," Frank agreed sagely.

"My hero!" Alice cheered in a high, girlish voice. She dove into the bed, snuggling onto his chest.

Frank groaned as her knee struck an uncomfortable place.

"Sorry," she said with a grin, rearranging her legs so that she straddled his hips. Alice settled herself so that she was directly over him, her hands resting on his shoulders. "For saving me, what could I possibly give my rescuer?"

"A kiss?" Frank offered hopefully, his face turning a little pink at her current position.

"We can start there," she suggested, lowering her lips to brush against his in a soft, feathery touch, but it wasn't long before the sensation grew more forceful. Frank's hand buried itself in her hair, pressing her closer, the strength of the kiss growing as their feelings of mutual relief and love took hold.

"FRANK!" a voice yelled from the doorway.

Alice tumbled, nearly hitting the floor before Frank captured her arm. The two teenagers looked guiltily toward the doorway where an enraged Mrs. Longbottom stood towering over them, the vulture topping her hat quivering with emotion.

"Bad time, son?" a more amused voice asked from behind her. Mr. Longbottom's mouth was twitching in the corners as if he desperately wanted to break into a smile.

"Hi, Mum, Dad," Frank greeted, his face now as red as a tomato.

Alice couldn't help it: she laughed. "Nice to meet you," she managed as her giggles subsided.

"Nice to meet you, Alice." Frank's father looked surprisingly like his son, only much older: his curly hair was snowy white.

Alice couldn't help smiling when Mr. Longbottom correctly identified her without her having mentioned her name. Turning to Frank, who seemed to have turned even more red if it was possible, she asked, "Told them about me?"

"He's mentioned you fairly often," Mr. Longbottom provided. "We'll go get some tea." Mr. Longbottom tugged at his wife's arm. She appeared to have frozen in shock.

As the door shut behind them, Alice heard Mrs. Longbottom's voice ring out. "But Thomas, what were they doing in a hospital? He's—Thomas!"

"He's recovering, dear; quite quickly by the looks of it. Leave it alone." The man's voice and his wife's muffled reply grew softer as they moved further down the hall.

Alice turned her face back to Frank. "I think they like me."

"What's not to like?" he said, burying his embarrassed face in her shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

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Chapter 2: Difficulty

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James Potter was very confused.

It had started out a fairly normal day. Well, not _normal_ but fairly regular. Saturday had been terribly dramatic. Of course. After all, you couldn't exactly consider a horrendous attack and fighting Dark Lord Voldemort ordinary. And James still vividly remembered when Barten had died. The smudges under the young man's eyes were evidence enough that the previous evening hadn't been as restful as needed.

But it was Monday, and while gossip still raged with tales of what had happened in Hogsmeade (and quite a few things that hadn't), life was getting back to normal. James had done his homework. He'd gone to class. He had even managed to get into yet another ridiculous fight with Lily, over Merlin knew what this time. (Something about how it was _wrong_ to prank gossiping third years even if they were spreading some foolish story about Barten being alive and recovering in St. Mungo's. Lying little prats.)

So the last thing he'd expected when he'd left the Gryffindor Tower for dinner was to be mobbed by a crowd of Aurors and a dozen members of the press.

"That's him!" a voice shouted out as soon as he stepped onto the lower flight of stairs.

James blinked as a flash went off, momentarily blinding him. He looked behind him wondering who they were talking about, but all he saw was Flister Cornsworth. And, well, James had to admit that he was certainly more worthy of mob worship than Flister.

But that was silly.

"Err, excuse me," James said, deciding to ignore the crowd and try to get to the Great Hall. He'd been delayed already by some prank items gone awry and he was eager to get to his friends and a little Shepherd's pie.

"Just stand there," one of the photographers called.

And James did, very dumbly, in a dazed sort of way. Several more flashes exploded and the spots of light blinded him so much that any sort of stair-climbing maneuver would have been life-threatening.

"Err...what's going on?" James asked.

The crowd grew even tighter when an auror in blue robes approached James and started pumping his hand, smiling and waving to the cameras while doing so. "Just great work, James."

James craned his neck to try and figure out who exactly was congratulating him. Eventually the man turned from the flashing cameras enough that James was able to recognize Auror Fillbuster. Not a particularly noteworthy man; he'd probably never worked in the field, and was more known for handing out plaques at press conferences and the like. He had given James's own father an award only last year for fifty years in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Tell us, Mr. Potter," a scrawny man with a stubby moustache shouted, "why did you stand up against the Dark Lord?"

"Err..." James wondered why anyone would ask that question.

Fillbuster's booming voice took over the lull. "Well, as I'm sure James would tell you, it's every good Englishman's duty to stand against this criminal, this villain of the wizarding world."

"You're only a sixth year—did you fear for your life?" a woman with tight blonde curls asked, elbowing her way to the front.

"I guess," James said.

"Bravery personified, the best example of young men today!" Fillbuster's voice carried high over the heads of the reporters and the photographers eagerly snapped another shot of the auror slapping James on the back and offering a very cheesy thumbs-up.

"There must be some mistake," James said to the Auror, trying to block the reporters from their conversation.

"Mistake?" Fillbuster said quietly. "You are James Potter, aren't you? Defender of Hogsmeade. Classy title, that."

"That's just it. I didn't defend anyone. Well, not really. I shot off a few curses bu—"

"Shot off a few curses!" Fillbuster was projecting his voice again. "And he's modest, too," the man claimed, once again turning James back toward the front.

"Why didn't you step forward in Hogsmeade? Are the rumors true that certain shop owners may be pressing charges?" The voice was lost in the muffled shouts of other reporters putting in their opinions.

"I...what?" James asked. He vaguely remembered some reporters in Hogsmeade and somehow avoiding them did sound familiar. He scratched his head. This was starting to not make a lot of sense. Had he hit his head? James looked around, suddenly wondering if this was some prank Padfoot had concocted? Naw, he wasn't smart enough to pull something like this off.

"Is it true that you stole a camera belonging to a _Daily Prophet _photographer?" a new voice chimed in, managing to rise above the rest.

James shook his head. Maybe he _should_ see Madam Pomfrey.

Fillbuster seemed to take the sudden public shift with the confidence of a raging rhinoceros. A muttered roar seemed to emanate from his body and the reporters present all stilled under the noise, shifting their quills and pads of paper nervously.

"Now, what we have here folks is a modest, hard-working, brave English wizard; a hero really, from a long line of good-hearted folk. You all know how his father earned an Order of Merlin, Third Class, for his action against Grindelwald. And the apple didn't fall far from the tree! Young James here stepped in and saved a lot of lives, and we should all be thankful."

The wizards swallowed nervously, as if any expression of ungratefulness were a form of treason.

"Of course the lad was a little confused, a little nervous. Can't blame him for wanting to get back to the castle for medical treatment. A lad like him wouldn't want to take the glory he deserves."

James knew that somewhere Lily Evans was laughing her well-proportioned arse off with all this talk of his modesty and selflessness.

"Now, the Auror Division of the Magical Law Enforcement wants to extend its gratitude to this fine young man, and hope that someday he decides to join our numbers. We'll have a spot for someone like him!" Fillbuster threw an arm around James's shoulder and once again the cameras flashed excitedly.

"Excuse me," an amused voice interrupted. Albus Dumbledore descended the stairs and stood protectively behind James.

"Auror Fillbuster, good to see you," the headmaster said kindly. "We can speak in my office. Perhaps your...friends would like to leave now. This is a school and not the proper time or place for a press conference."

The members of the press muttered rebelliously but Fillbuster waved a casual hand, dismissing them without argument. The two young recruits who had followed him moved to help direct the press from the grounds. Having lost their Ministry protector, the adult witches and wizards moved en masse toward the doors, summing up their thoughts on their little pads of paper as they left.

"Professor?" James said in confusion, hoping that the headmaster could explain to him what might have caused this mess.

"Let me have a moment to speak to Mr. Fillbuster, Mr. Potter. You have some dinner and then we can discuss this afterward. There is some lovely chocolate pudding tonight."

James moved toward the Great Hall and then paused for a moment. He turned to make certain that he was out of the headmaster's sight before ducking into a secret passageway and dashing up a few stairs and emerging on the fourth floor. It was near enough to the headmaster's office and James ducked behind a tapestry to wait for Dumbledore and Fillbuster to go by.

The spokesman for the Aurors was a short man; his blond hair had gone grey on the temples and his lack of field work left him a little heavier of build than some of his colleagues. But he had the same straight bearing that James had become accustomed to when meeting an Auror. His own father's posture was so straight it could be used in place of a level. Dumbledore towered over the other man, and his slower steps seemed to contrast with Fillbuster's more purposeful gait. The younger auror had to drop back to keep pace with the headmaster, but any frustration from this was hidden by a genial face.

"Oh, never mind," Fillbuster was saying as they emerged. "They got what they needed. Vultures, always trying to make everything into a bad thing."

"About this, Steven," Dumbledore said gently, "why does the Ministry seem to have it in their heads that one of my sixth year students did battle with Voldemort? I've received no less than twenty owls today trying to arrange a time to speak with young Mr. Potter."

Fillbuster grunted before arching his lips into a grin and shaking his head. "Notice you didn't reply," he commented. "Had to take action; the wizarding world wants a hero after all, and young James did fight the Dark Lord. Nearly bested him at that."

Dumbledore paused. "I find that...difficult to believe. While young Mr. Potter is a formidable wizard, he hasn't yet reached a point where he could—"

"But he was seen!" Fillbuster interrupted. "People in Hogsmeade pointed him out: dark messy hair, glasses, same build as young James, and it wasn't difficult to spot him for a Potter. Almost the spitting image of his father; Potter blood, no getting out if it." He chuckled, shaking his head. "He's a wily bugger, though; transfigured one of his mates to look like him to cause confusion. There is modesty and stupidity, and the boy has one in spades—not certain which."

Dumbledore paused. "Still...I find the matter a bit confusing..."

The conversation became difficult to hear as the two turned the corner that would lead them to the headmaster's gargoyle. James dusted himself as he pulled back from behind the tapestry of Franklin the Curious. He removed his glasses and cast a cleaning charm on them as he considered what he had overheard.

Nearly bested the Dark Lord?

Hardly. James liked to think that he had held his own. He'd tossed a few spells, kept the Dark Lord on his toes...

James reached up and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

No, he hadn't.

He'd been a mild annoyance. Sirius had more of a hand in fighting Voldemort. It had been nothing like the games he'd played. It hadn't been a prank. It hadn't even been something to glorify; exalting in his life while Barten and all those Aurors were dead seemed rude somehow.

And the other thing: transfiguring a friend to 'confuse' everyone. He knew he hadn't done that. He could, of course; transfiguration wasn't his best class for nothing. But why would he?

But the thing that really nailed it: modest? He was a heck of a Quidditch player, pretty brilliant (if he did say so himself) when it came to Transfiguration, Charms, Defense. He didn't lack for bravery, and as for looks...

It was obvious to practically everyone that James had a lot of virtues, but modesty wasn't one of them. They had to have the wrong guy. They had to.

"Took you long enough. The fireworks didn't catch, did they?" Sirius asked as James plopped down at his usual seat at the Gryffindor table.

It took a moment for James to figure out what Sirius was talking about, remembering now the reason he had stayed behind. "No, but keep water away from my trunk. You never know what could be in there."

"You alright, James?" Remus asked, looking at his friend closely.

James frowned down at his plate. "You guys know Hogsmeade?" he asked softly.

"Little village, south of the gates?" Sirius asked, feigning humor.

Remus and Peter, however, looked a little startled. James and Sirius hadn't spoken much of what happened when they had been out in the street. They'd been curious, but it hadn't seemed right to really pry given the way both boys seemed uncomfortable with the event.

"You know, the attack," James pressed, side-stepping Sirius's joke.

Sirius froze. "What about it?" he asked just as quietly.

"Um, I didn't do anything...odd, did I?"

Sirius shared a glance with the others. "No, not really. 'Course, don't know if I'd be able to tell. Never really fought any evil, dark blokes with you before. Unless you count Slytherins."

"But I didn't _almost beat _the Dark Lord, did I?" James asked, his voice even more quiet. Peter had to strain to hear.

Sirius chuckled. "Having delusions of grandeur again?" he asked, smirking. "Ha! That's almost as funny as the time you thought you were Hogwarts's most eligible bachelor."

"I am," James said. "But seriously, if I didn't do anything, well, _extra special_, let's say, why is it I was mobbed by aurors and reporters just a minute ago?"

"You were?" Remus asked, his brows crinkling in thought.

"Yep; they were after giving me an Order of Merlin. Took my picture so many times I'd gone blind," James exaggerated, but with good reason. He reached across the table and dished out some pudding, dropping it onto his plate with an emphasis that left splatters on the tabletop.

Sirius leaned back. "Well, how do you like that?" Annoyance seeped into his words. "I did just as much as you, _more_ even—I beat an Unforgivable, and you get the glory!"

"Hey," James fumed, "I didn't ask for this. I'm as confused as you. Why the hell would they think I nearly defeated Voldemort and saved Hogsmeade? Is there some sort of hallucinogenic potion in the water there or something?"

"Hey, just joking," Sirius said, raising his palms. "Err—got you?"

"Why aren't you happy about this?" Remus asked with a raised brow. "You usually like the attention."

"Blunt, very blunt," Sirius added.

Peter turned to glare at Remus. "Yeah, James isn't—"

"But true," Sirius finished, ignoring Peter's attempt at defending James.

James opened his mouth to argue, but Moony had a good point. It _was _a little out of character. He bit into his Shepherd's Pie but it tasted dry. House elves must've been losing their touch.

"Don't know," he said lamely, "just seems wrong, I guess. I mean, someone must have..."

"But who? And why didn't we see him?" Sirius asked.

James shook his head. "Anyone else think 'strange' is starting to seem normal?" he asked.

Three nods met his statement.

As the Marauders silently returned to dinner, James wondered if his little chat with Dumbledore would clear things up, but he wasn't holding much hope. The Dumbledore he had seen walking with Fillbuster didn't seem any more enlightened than James himself. He was rather glad when dinner was over; the food wasn't settling in his stomach right. Someone really needed to have a chat with the House Elves.

"Where you headed, mate?" Sirius asked when James took a left at the staircase leading to the Common Room.

"Dumbledore," he called.

"What did you do now?" a new voice accused from behind them. James didn't even need to spare a glance to know that Lily's green eyes were flashing. It was odd that he hadn't noticed her behind him

"Nothing," he said, rolling his eyes. He wanted to return with something more glib but he had more things to worry about than Lily Evans.

He kept up his pace, hoping to reach Dumbledore's office before Fillbuster had gone. Maybe they could clean this mess up before it got to the papers. All he had to do was say it wasn't him. They couldn't prove it was, because, for once, he was entirely innocent. Such was an utterly new experience when entering the headmaster's office. He gave the gargoyle a familiar nod as the guardian stepped aside to allow him entrance.

"Come in, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore's voice passed through the partially open door and James took a breath before turning the knob.

He looked around expectantly but Auror Fillbuster was gone.

"Sir, I swear, I'm not what they say I am," he burst out before taking a seat. Saying the truth quickly would make certain that it was said; he didn't want to steal this person's glory for a moment longer.

"Take a seat, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said very calmly, as if a teenager had not just burst into his office and started yelling. As James took a seat, he wondered how often that happened to the headmaster.

"Sir, I wasn't the one who fought Voldemort...well, not like they say I fought him."

Dumbledore nodded very wisely. "Yes, I know. But what if you _were_ the one who did what has been done?" the old man said looking at James from behind crossed fingers.

"What?" James was seriously thinking he needed to go to the Hospital Wing. Things were starting to make less sense. "But I'm not." He said this very slowly, supposing that perhaps Dumbledore hadn't heard him correctly.

"Yes, but what if you were?"

"Huh?"

The headmaster leaned back in his chair and fixed James with a very focused stare. "There are plenty of eyewitnesses who claim you were the person they saw. And the Ministry, after experiencing a rather crushing defeat, is very comfortable in allowing some good to come out of this situation. The heralding of a brave young man, one who intends to someday become an Auror--- you can see why this is appealing to them."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that. Perhaps you could be the 'Hero of Hogsmeade', as the evidence suggests."

"But I'm not," James repeated, not certain if the old headmaster needed a trip to Madam Pomfrey, too. He was getting old...it was only a matter of time. James's own grandfather had died completely convinced that he was a teapot.

Dumbledore looked distant, rubbing his forehead wearily. "The wizarding world needs someone to look up to at the moment. The attack on Hogsmeade did exactly what Voldemort intended. It struck a wave of fear through the hearts of the wizarding world."

Dumbledore looked at the young man. "That was his purpose: he didn't require anything from it except the fear it created. All those lives wasted."

James felt ill.

"And it worked perfectly." Dumbledore looked older than James had ever seen him. He rifled through the parchment on his desk, his spectacle-framed eyes picking out the words that had been written to him.

"Parents have owled me, concerned that their children are not safe here. And then the students themselves..." Dumbledore looked a little sad. "If by sending them away I could guarantee their safety, I would do so, but I still believe they would be safest here."

James shifted guiltily in his seat. He hadn't considered all of that, he had just been upset about the lies being spread about him.

Dumbledore looked up and smiled tiredly. "I suppose I was just hoping that maybe it was true. Even though I know it can't be."

James met the old man's gaze and...was there a challenge gleaming in those eyes? A subtle wink filled with silent communication.

James rubbed his forehead, swallowing the tightness in his throat. A pit opened in his stomach as he struggled to understand. Was the great Albus Dumbledore asking him to lie?

"If I wasn't the one," he started hesitantly, "the real hero will come forward. I'd look pretty stupid."

The old man stroked his beard. "It's lucky that you appear to be the only candidate. It is very unlikely that anyone else will come forward."

_What does that old man know?_ James wondered silently. This was insane; this wasn't how this conversation was supposed to go. He was going to get this mess cleared up, and then laugh about the mix-up in the Common Room with his friends. He shouldn't be entertaining this insanity. There was no way that Dumbledore, _the _Dumbledore, wanted him to pretend this. Telling the truth was the right thing. Wasn't that written next to the golden rule or something? He shouldn't be thinking about how one simple little lie would...

"But it's a false hope," James said, jumping to his feet. "I'm not their hero, I can't save them!"

"It's not a false hope," Dumbledore said firmly. "The future will be better, but only if we take the pains to make it so."

James shook his head. He could see the logic, despite himself. By allowing them to hang this title over his head, there would be a chance that people wouldn't give up hope. And as cheap as their savior might be, perhaps one was better than none at all.

"I can't lie," James said softly.

The headmaster bit his lip slitghtly and his eyes sparkled with mirth."I think Professor McGonagall may argue with you on that point, Mr. Potter."

James fought a smile himself before letting the cheer drain from his features. "Not about something important. I can't just take away from someone, something I didn't earn." James looked up, desperately hoping the headmaster would understand.

The old man's eyes were twinkling and as he gazed at James, his mouth stretched into a smile.

"You surprise me," the headmaster said softly.

"Why does everyone say that?" James complained. "Look," he said firmly, "I know I'm not...I know I get into trouble and I break the rules. But I never lied about who I was." He shook his head in confusion. "Not on purpose...I just didn't know yet."

His old thoughts came back to him; it had all been planned out, who he thought he was going to be. An auror, saving people, fighting dark wizards. He had wanted the glory, the name, the pride that came from that. He had even wanted to be famous, to have people think he was brave. He hadn't imagined the duty involved, the sacrifice that came from putting the wizarding world's priorities above his own.

But he knew it now, with a sudden clarity that couldn't be denied. And as he settled deep into the folds of his chair, he knew that he would bear this, carry out the charade of a hero as best he could. A prank, perhaps—one with good intentions. But it would never be what he had wanted, but because it was needed. It wasn't heroic; telling the truth would be the really heroic thing to do.

But it was right, and in doing what was right he'd be able sleep at the end of day. Because he'd done all he could.

"You don't have to lie," Dumbledore said gently. He had risen from his chair while James had been working out his thoughts. He placed a hand on James's shoulder. "Sometimes saying nothing will suffice. Let them believe what they must."

James nodded. "Is this right?" he asked. Somehow he wanted the headmaster to say it, as if it would take the responsibility away.

"It is a difficult path to walk," Dumbledore stated.

James nodded.

"You will find, James, that there comes a time in life when we must choose between what is right, and what is easy. I am only sorry that this war brought your time so soon."

James didn't feel too comforted by Dumbledore's twisting of words, but he nodded.

"Oh, and James, before you go...lemon drop?"

-

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My thanks, once again to MeshellySnow. A beta without compare. She helped on this awhile ago.

And I want to clear up what may be a misunderstanding. While I hope that Timely Errors Requiem does answer some of our questions, and provides some amusement, this isn't a 'sequel' to the original story but rather a fun exploration. I'm publishing this only for the fans of that fic, in the hopes that they might enjoy these moments as well.

That being said, I intend to spend some time in the past before venturing foward to Harry's time. So, yes, while it may be a bit, we will see Harry in the future further than where Timely Errors left him. However, don't expect to see a final battle with Voldemort---I'm certain other fanfic writers have written marvelous ones. But Timely Errors was the story I intended to tell and it has been told. There is a power in knowing you have told the tale you meant, and not dragging it on into a (pardon my language, but the term applies perfectly) half-assed attempt of reproduction.

- Worfe


	3. Chapter 3

Lily Evan's Not So Very Good Day.

-

-

Lily squinted her eyes at her plate of breakfast and tried her best to ignore the tiredness that was weighing her down with an actual physical presence. Indeed, she'd checked that little weights hadn't attached themselves to her person.

The cause of this fatigue was happily buttering some toast and humming a wizarding song under her breath.

Alice seemed to be in a frightfully good mood despite the fact that she had been up past three in the morning, and keeping her friend awake as well, chattering on about all things Frank Longbottom. Lily liked the reserved seventh year boy as much as one could like a best friend's boyfriend, but even she had her limit when it came to hearing about his health, his parents...and Alice could _over __share_ when it came to some personal aspects of her and Frank's relationship.

Still, as Lily took a big gulp of hot tea, she resolved herself to be happy for her friend. Better having Alice back to the way she was than the ghost-like specter who had haunted the Gryffindor Tower for the few days before Frank woke up.

"I do hope he comes back today," Alice started saying. "The healers said he might be able to, but they weren't certain. And Frank always says his mother is a little overprotective—"

Lily gradually tuned her out; they had discussed it all the previous evening. She nodded at the right points while struggling to drink enough tea to remain awake for the day. She was on her second cup when a tawny owl dropped down with a _Daily Prophet_ clutched in its talons. The bird eyed her suspiciously as she fumbled for the few knuts the paper cost, finally finding them tucked into a corner of her bag.

The bird flew off, cuffing her on the head with a wing as it did so, and she grumbled that it hadn't been _that_ _much_ of a wait. With a sigh, she opened the small weekday edition and hoped for a little better coverage of the Hogsmeade attack. Not that she was the gossipy sort like some, just that the previous reports had seemed more fiction than fact and Lily was starting to worry that no one would ever know exactly what had happened. She herself wanted a few holes filled in. The time between returning to the pub (after trying to fend off dementors) and leaving the boarded establishment (when Dumbledore arrived) was a little confusing. She felt an odd desire to rationalize what had happened, as if then and only then could she put it out of her mind and get on with the business of living. (An odd phrase, that: she'd never really understood it before now. What other business could one be in?)

Lily cast a cautious glance at her best friend. It was wrong of her to blame Alice for keeping her awake; even without the blonde's distraction, her nights had not been restful.

She glanced at the rolled up paper and at least the headline did not disappoint: HOGSMEADE HERO RECEIVES HONORS.

Lily leaned closer, unfolding the paper curiously. There were several heroes that came to her mind. Professor Barten, whose current status was a question of dispute, certainly deserved the honor. He'd driven back the dementors and gossips claimed that he had dueled Voldemort himself, which also explained the rumors of his death.

Then there were all the Aurors who had died defending the village. Lily had been in the Three Broomsticks when the Death Eaters' plans had come to fruition. So many young men and women...how many families had lost brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers? If anyone, they deserved all the honor that could be bestowed. Although heaping honor on corpses did feel a little hollow.

Or perhaps even Frank or the others like him who had stepped forward to defend the town even when they had no obligation to. They had risked their lives to protect people while so many others had hidden away. Lily felt ashamed that in many ways, she was among those who had stayed at a safe distance. It had been easy to rationalize at the time, after all, she was just a student. What help could she have been?

But in times afterward, her reasons seemed more like weak excuses.

She examined the page closely, her eyes immediately drawn to the picture that crowded the page. The image showed a very exuberant man in Auror robes, and next to him, shaking the older man's hand, was a face that was—a face that was disturbingly familiar.

Lily's eyes narrowed and a frown marred her features as she pulled the newspaper closer and began reading the story that accompanied the baffling photograph.

HOGSMEADE HERO RECEIVES HONORS

_Yesterday the reluctant hero of Hogsmeade__ had__ finally been identified as James Potter, sixth-year Gryffindor at Hogwarts. In a startling demonstration of power, young James Potter managed to keep You-Know-Who at bay until re__i__nforcements arrived. _

"_He was really something," __said__ Samuel Horten, __of the__ Charms Modifers Union. "He protected the other students and used a __pretty powerful spell freezing Charm, Iceimmous perhaps, __to disrupt the Fierius Serpentus_—_that's a level __eleven[11]__ spell."_

"_He saved my daughter and my life," __said__ Anabel Edwards, __a__ housewitch. "We were pinned and I got hit with a terrible curse. I don't think we would have made it if he hadn't saved us. I only hope I can thank him."_

_However__,__ after the daring heroics, the sixth year student quickly became a figure of mystery__, n__ot even taking credit for his deeds. Despite that, __with__ the testimony of several witnesses, and the help of the Herbology professor at Hogwarts, he was properly identified and honored by the Auror division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We, members of __the__ press, then learned that it was his modesty alone that left him so mysterious. _

_When confronted with his accomplishment__,__the humble__Potter still maintained he had merely "shot off a few curses__.__"_

"_Bravery personified, the best example of young men today!" __declared spokeswizard Auror Fillbuster during a press conference at Hogwarts._

"_It's every good Englishman's duty to stand against this criminal, this villain of the __w__izarding __w__orld__,__" Potter responded when asked about his frame of mind, and any concern for his own safety during the attack. _

"_You all know how his father earned a__n__ Order of Merlin third class for his action against Grind__el__wald. And the apple didn't fall far from the tree! Young James here stepped in and saved a lot of lives, and __we__ [the wizarding world] should all be thankful." _

_There is even some speculation that Potter may earn an Order of Merlin himself__, __which would make__ him one of the youngest individuals ever to receive such an honored award. As for his future, __t__he Auror __D__ivision has extended an open invitation to the young man once he graduates from Hogwarts._

"_We'll have a spot for someone like him!" Fillbuster claimed._

Lily Evans couldn't read anymore, her vison had started to turn red.

James Potter? James Potter, a hero? James Potter, brave? Maybe some of those she could be convinced of. He was a Gryffindor, after all, and they weren't the house known for cowardice. And he certainly tried to act like the hero enough: it wouldn't be impossible for him to luck into actually playing the role. Out of pure chance, mind you.

But...James Potter, _modest? __Humble?_

Impossible. They had to have the wrong person. James Potter was as arrogant as they came. He was pretentious and even had the capacity for cruelty. She'd witnessed it herself.

She glanced around at the muttered comments that were emerging throughout the Hall. Those without newspapers were grappling with their neighbors as people everywhere began reading the _Daily Prophet_ with rapt attention. Heads looked around excitedly, searching the Gryffindor table with probing eyes but the subject of their search seemed to be missing.

Lily was actually a little surprised. She expected to see the preening peacock all smiles, probably offering people autographs. She could just picture it, _urgh_: that stupid smile on his stupid face. Just the thought made her want to roll up her newspaper and whack him over the head with it.

Just who did he think he was! How dare he take away the credit from the real heroes! And now that he had muddied the water, who knew if they would ever discover what had happened that day in Hogsmeade?

"Lily? You okay, Lils?"

Lily looked up suddenly, her green eyes meeting Alice's.

Her friend flinched from the righteous fury in her eyes. "Um...your paper is on fire."

Lily looked at the parchment in surprise. Indeed, the edges were charred and small flames licked the corners hungrily. She quickly dunked the paper into a jug of pumpkin juice, emitting some squealed protests from her neighbors.

Lily took a breath; it had been years since she'd had any uncontrolled bursts of magic.

She pulled the sodden newspaper from the jug, glaring at the picture of James Potter that had somehow survived her little fit of pyromania.

"What is it?" Alice asked. Her own thoughts about Frank seemed to have taken a quick detour.

"I'm going to class," Lily fumed, rising to her feet and walking almost predatorily out of the Great Hall.

Alice took a moment to observe the burned and stained paper, her eyebrows raising at the picture, before she dashed after her friend. What class did they have...?

"Frank!" Alice exclaimed in surprise just as she reached the doors.

"Alice," Frank said with a grin, taking in her surprised expression and flushed features.

Alice threw herself at her boyfriend, her arms wrapping around his waist and holding him tight, not caring in the slightest that some of the other students had broken into giggles and were pointing in their direction.

"Frank," she said into his chest. She could feel his heart beating...

Alice released a sigh. Just this once, Lily's feud with James was going to have to wait.

-

Lily made it all the way to the Defense classroom before she remembered that they didn't have Defense. Barten was still dead, or in St. Mungo's (depending on whom you talked to) and as such their classes had been temporarily postponed. She threw her bag on the floor across from the classroom's door and began pacing the currently empty hallway in a fit of temper.

James Potter had done some low things, but _this_? And to think she had almost thought he was growing up. She'd stood with him and Barten against the Dementors and part of her had been entirely unprepared by the selfless loyalty he had shown for his friend. She'd like to think that she would have done the same, but it was easier standing behind him somehow.

Lily crossed her arms and stared at the floor as if it had offended her gravely.

"But then to try and take credit for fighting Voldemort!" she fumed aloud. She suddenly decided to kick the wall viciously and yelped, hopping on one leg as she drew her now injured foot up for examination.

She slowly hobbled to the wall and sat next to her bag. She tucked her foot up and rubbed it more roughly than was needed. That was very stupid of her. Now not only was she tired and angry, but lame as well. She folded her knees under her skirt and wrapped her robe around her moodily. She sat like that for a number of minutes, the time seeping by both slow and fast, staring angrily at the wall.

-

Perhaps after such a beginning, Lily should have known that this was one of those days where it was better to simply turn right around and go back to bed. But she was too much of a serious student to purposefully miss class, and she wasn't about to let James Potter be the cause behind ruining her perfect attendance.

And perhaps a part of it was out of spite. Merlin help James Potter when she stumbled upon him. He was going to get a serious tongue lashing. Dignity be damned, she would call him out before the entire Hogwarts population if need be. Actually, that seemed like a very good idea, and was perhaps the reason why she was inspecting the Gryffindor table so closely when it came time for lunch.

"Well, that was a fascinating lecture," Alice said in an attempt at distraction. "Who would have guessed that coloring charms could be so useful? I, for one, just realized the vast potential my wardrobe now holds."

Lily didn't respond; the wrinkle on her forehead, that had developed over the day, crinkled even more deeply as her search for James Potter proved in vain.

"Or that Professor Flitwick used to earn a living stripping. Don't get me wrong: he probably cut a fine figure in his younger years."

That was just like James Potter to skip school, and the one time that she wanted to find him. Every other day he'd find her and be an annoyance but the _one day_ she was looking for him, he seemed to have vanished.

"And he still has the moves. Imagine how acrobatic someone of his stature can be—I didn't think men could even do the splits. Not to mention being in a leopard thong at the time."

James Potter had better pray to whatever gods he believed in that she found him soon—

"What!" Lily said, shooting her friend a bewildered glance. Somehow the words 'leopard thong' had invaded her mind and meshed very uncomfortably with the other subject of her focus: James Potter.

"Would you get out of this mood you've been in," Alice said, rolling her eyes and linking arms with her best friend. "So James Potter is getting all the credit. Does it really matter? At least people are looking cheerful again. For the past few days, everyone has been on the verge of a nervous wreck."

"That's not the point," Lily griped sullenly.

The pair settled at the Gryffindor table and examined the usual lunch fare. Lily grabbed a sandwich and tore at the crust irritably.

"What is the point then?" Alice demanded. "There are probably worse people that the papers could pick."

"Worse people!" Lily exclaimed. She spluttered, unable to explain Alice's lackadaisical attitude.

"Yes, worse people. And look, he isn't here making a show of himself, is he?"

Lily had to admit, Alice was making a point there. A surprising point.

"And how do you know that he didn't save those people? Why would they lie, anyway?"

Lily bit her lip as she composed a good excuse. "It just can't be true," she finally decided.

"How do you know?" Alice pressed. "You weren't there. Maybe he did save everyone."

Lily paused. "I'm willing to believe that maybe—just maybe, mind you—he might have helped a few people. But,"— Alice rolled her eyes—"even if he did help a few people, what makes him the _Hero of Hogsmeade_? Plenty of other people helped just as much as he could have. What about Frank? Doesn't he deserve some credit? He fought Death Eaters, too."

Alice chuckled. "Frank would _love_ that," she stated, her voice laden with sarcasm.

"You know what I mean," Lily said with a shrug.

"I know you're unreasonable," Alice argued back.

"I am _not_ unreasonable," Lily said. She crossed her arms and stared at her uneaten sandwich. She was pouting, which was also annoying and immature, but she couldn't seem to break out of the posture.

"When it comes to James Potter, you are. You've been trying to find a reason to hate him since third year when he turned your hair green."

Lily frowned. "And why shouldn't I?" she demanded.

Alice sighed. "Because James Potter is not thirteen anymore and neither are you. Because people change, because maybe some people learn to look past the transgressions from childhood." Alice took a bite of her own sandwich and raised an eyebrow at her suddenly quiet friend.

"But he hasn't changed," Lily concluded.

"And neither have you," Alice said with a grin. She slung an arm around her friend's shoulder. "Don't misunderstand: I like you just the way you are. Really, your determination to hate him is kind of adorable."

Lily took a drink of pumpkin juice to hide her scowl. Alice had lost her mind. James Potter hadn't changed: he might be taller but otherwise he was same thirteen-year-old boy who stole her quills and tried to copy her homework assignments.

And she was_ not _unreasonable.

"Better snag James while you can," Hortense called to Lily as she passed. "He's going to have plenty of _beautiful_ witches after him now."

"Urgh," Lily fumed.

Alice laughed. "You're just too funny."

"I'm going to class." For the second time that day Lily left her table, leaving her meal half-finished, and stormed through the Great Hall. This time, tripping on her own robes and just barely making it out without falling on her face.

It was karmic, she decided; she'd done this too often today and vowed never to storm out of a room again, if only to remain original.

-

By the end of the day, it was officially the worst day Lily could recall ever having: She had forgotten her homework for Transfiguration, dozed off in Potions (earning herself a reprimand from Slughorn, something he had never done before) and just as she was returning from the library, after a serious study session, her bag had split open, splattering ink all over her books and homework, not to mention leaving black splotches on her new leather shoes.

There was probably nothing else that could make it worse, but she wasn't going to tempt fate. She vowed to simply go to her room and go to sleep.

The common room was abuzz with people chattering over James Potter's triumph, but she bit her lip and not an utterance of dissent left her lips. She practically crawled to the girl's staircase, pushed the door to her dorm room open and, fully-clothed, dropped into her bed and closed the curtains.

As she shut her tired eyes, she couldn't help but hope that this wretched day had all been one terrible dream.

Later, she would find that horribly ironic.

-

Lily's green eyes bust open and she bit back the muttered curse that had been on the tip of her tongue. The dream had been too convoluted to understand, a smattering of vague worries and fears. It hadn't made sense, because in the dream she was worried over someone like James Potter. 'Like' as in the sense that while the person looked like James Potter, he didn't incite the same ire that usually coursed through her when James was present. Instead, she felt concerned, worried, even, and when she'd been close to him, she'd known it wasn't James Potter at all, but another boy.

Lily rubbed her forehead and tried to think back to a book on dream symbolism she had read. She'd been thirteen and terribly interested in that sort of topic at the time, but she couldn't for the life of her remember the specifics now.

And the more she thought about the dream, the more the details fled from her, and the less important they seemed to become.

She raised a hand and tugged at the rumpled school uniform she had fallen asleep in. The skirt had bunched up and the clasp around her waist had dug into her skin, leaving a red impression. She'd had the wherewithal to remove her tie but the buttoned shirt now felt too tight at the shoulders.

She pushed open her curtains intending to change into her pajamas and perhaps do some reading but found herself a little surprised at the dark dorm room. She hadn't thought she'd been asleep that long, but the steady breathing of her dorm mates forced her to look at a clock.

12:10 a.m.

A little past midnight and she was wide awake. Still, she pushed herself to her wardrobe and fished around for some more comfortable clothes, finally finding what she hoped were a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that had once belonged to her father.

Perhaps she'd get the rest of her homework finished, she thought. She still had a paper due for Potions. Or maybe just some reading.

Lily changed in the light of the bathroom, and while she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she wondered who the tired-looking woman staring back at her was.

The red hair was loose and swam around her shoulders. The face looked a little pale and her green eyes seemed to stare back at her unflinchingly. Lily wondered if this was how she looked to other people, or if maybe she'd simply not had enough sleep lately. One should never stare so critically after midnight, not after having the sort of day she'd had.

Unreasonable.

Alice's words from lunch came back with a sudden harshness under the bright glare of the bathroom light. Was this person in the mirror that sort of woman? Unreasonable, un-bending...hard?

Or was there enough vulnerability beneath that exterior to make her a human being?

Lily shook her head and splashed some cold water on her face. This was definitely not the time or place to have such an introspective moment. People decided crazy things after little sleep and bad-luck days.

She turned off the light in the bathroom, returning to the blinding blackness of her dorm, and tripped over a few mislaid items before she finding her own satchel. She proceeded down the girls' staircase, hoping that the common room would be empty and she might have a little quiet time.

Once again luck wasn't on her side; she didn't know why she even expected a break after the day she'd had. The candles were doused after midnight, but a few students remained scattered about the room using the fireplaces or charmed lights to work on homework. They were mostly seventh years and despite the fact that school had just started, they were already looking drawn. Lily wasn't looking forward to her own NEWT year. There was also a small group surrounding one of the fireplaces, and the buzz of their wizarding wireless created the only noise in the room aside from the turning of pages.

When Lily saw the group's occupants, she nearly turned right back around and climbed the stairs back to her dorm.

Stubbornness and ill temper alone kept her stationary. What right did James Potter have to drive her away? Hadn't he already gotten enough today? Did he really have the right to deny her the ever so aptly named _c__ommon _room?

A thought whispered that this was the perfect time to confront James about his lies, but the strict woman in the bathroom mirror haunted her and Lily shook the notion away. She could publicly denounce James Potter another time; for the moment, she just wanted to while away a few hours reading until she was tired enough to go back to bed.

They were sitting at a fireplace across the room, one closer to the boys' staircase. She might as well take a seat near the one closer to the girls'. They seemed too engrossed in whatever mischief they were up to, anyway; if she ducked down a bit in her chair, there was no reason that they couldn't share the common room amicably.

Ha! Take that, 'unreasonable'!

Lily nestled into a sofa and pulled out one of her potions texts to read. It was a moldy old book she'd purchased in Diagon Alley on a whim. She'd been reading it recently because it happened to contain a very good description of many common (and dangerous) interactions. She hadn't even paid the book much mind until Severus Snape's eyes had bugged over the title. If they'd still been on good terms she might have offered to let him read it...

Lily heaved a sigh but shook her head and diverted her attention back to the book.

Still...she wasn't spying, mind you, but despite the book's usefulness, the contents were a little dry and it was impossible not to overhear what exactly the Marauders were listening to on the wireless.

It was the news, oddly enough. It seemed to be one of those 24-hour news stations that aired any recent news as well as repeating the reports of the day.

Lily listened closer when the radio announcer's voice stated that "coming up next" would be a partial repetition of the Minister of Magic's speech from earlier that evening. Lily shook her head, rather disappointed that her early bedtime had caused her to miss it.

She turned her ear further in their direction when Minster Bagnold's voice came in. The female Minister's tone was particularly grave and Lily felt a part of herself quaking with well-worn worry. There had been several such announcements as of late and each left her feeling more nervous.

The audio cut in at the middle of her speech.

"The children of the wizarding world are precious. It is dark days when a child must be asked to stand against such violence. But it is with good heart and cheer that we recognize the effort of young Mr. Potter, and he has the Ministry's thanks. He is truly a credit to his professors and I personally see him as a sign that this war—for indeed, that is what is upon us—is a war that we can win."

"Turn it off," James Potter stated, flopping down in a chair and running a hand through his hair.

Lily ducked lower in her couch, a little startled when one of the seventh year girls passed her to reach the dormitories. Two of the other male students were headed to their own rooms, leaving Lily alone with the Marauders.

"Not enjoying the attention?" Sirius asked, leaning toward his friend.

Lily paused in her reading; that was something she'd been wondering herself. She looked around guiltily. This wasn't really snooping...not really. She just happened to overhear.

"It's all bollox," James muttered, sounding cross.

Lily glanced curiously over her shoulder, a strange noise drawing her attention. She hadn't really noticed the fluctuating light, but now as she watched, she realized James Potter was tossing something into the fire; it crackled and sent up a flush of light burning quickly. Newspaper, by the look of it.

"Just shows you Dumbledore was right," Remus said, pointing at the wireless.

_Dumb__le__dore? What d__oes__ he have to do with this__?_ Lily wondered.

James grunted. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Why wouldn't this real hero step forward?" Peter asked timidly.

The other boys groaned, seemingly annoyed with the question.

Peter muttered something too quiet for Lily to hear.

"If we knew why, we wouldn't have to deal with this charade, but tonight only proves his point," Remus explained.

"Yeah, people looked happy, eh?" Sirius said. He seemed oddly serious, and thoughtful— which was enough for Lily to start wondering if this was actually a dream and she'd never really awoken up.

She pinched herself just to be certain.

James just kept tossing newspaper into the fireplace, not saying a word. As the silence dragged on, the other members of the mischief-making club said their goodnights and moved upstairs, leaving James alone with his thoughts.

Lily couldn't help but watch him, she could only see his profile, and with the flickering light, she could barely make out that. But there was something different about his expression, almost as if she were looking at a different person. And somehow her anger about the lies he was telling melted, or at least dropped a few degrees.

He just looked so unhappy. And what was all this about Dumbledore?

She found herself still thinking about it, long after James Potter had gone to bed.

-

And while she didn't think it then (indeed the notion never crossed her mind), it was undeniable that the tired woman in the bathroom mirror and the unhappy man by the fireplace were a perfect match. They fit together seamlessly, in a way that the children known as Lily Evans and James Potter never had.

But she didn't think it then, and she finally went to sleep that night, not much wiser than she had been.

-

-

A/N: My Thanks, again to Meshelly Snow for lending me a hand. I hope you enjoyed this portion and will enjoy the next as well.

Worfe.


	4. Chapter 4

He felt the pain before he even opened his eyes. Which was the first sign that it wasn't good. He'd been wounded several times before and usually Mungos had you so pleasantly dazed that most of the time you didn't even know you'd been injured.

Until you tore the freshly healed flesh.

But he hurt, and he had the vague sensation of being hungry too. He moaned.

"It should hurt," a complaining female voice said.

Michel Barten opened his eyes and tried his best to conjure a smile, "Perpetua," he said hiding the pain as well as he could.

It must not have worked because her severe expression didn't shift, "That's medi-witch Spencer," she corrected while adjusting the spectacles that were perched on her nose.

"What's the damage," he asked, trying to sit up and survey the main focus of his pain.

Perpe— Medi-witch Spencer shoved him back down with a firm hand. "Don't consider moving, we're still trying to regrow your intestines and your stomach is never going to be the same again. You can say good-bye to that hot sauce you fancy."

Barten hissed, as he lied back down on the pillow. "That bad eh?"

Was it his imagination or did Pepetua's eyes look a tad moist.

"How did you manage to..." she hastily pulled at his bed sheets and tightly bond him in place.

"I never knew you were interested in bondage," he quipped, "Maybe we could have dated for longer."

If Per– Mediwitch Spencer was the type to blush she might have, instead she frowned and pretended not to have heard him.

"Dark Lords can be problematic," Barten said, trying to sound blasé, even though he cringed when the blankets were pulled a little too tightly.

"Michel," Perpetua said, her firm voice faltering, "You aren't in the position to be— you're not Dumbledore!" Her exasperation was quite evident, but nothing new.

Barten did his best to shrug without moving, "I held my own."

"You're impossible," she flung her hands skyward and stomped to the door, "I'll be back with more pain relief potions," she directed. However, She stopped short when a tall young black man blocked her exit.

"You," she said with an equal amount of irritation. "I leave it to you, Mr. Warren, to try and talk some sense into him."

She left with a fury, and Barten couldn't help but wonder how he always managed to draw his ex-girlfriends as his medi-witch. But he had a visitor, which was another sign that it must be bad.

"She must like you," Barten said, cringing as he once again tried to sit up. Maybe Perpetua had it right this once. "She even remembered your name."

But who forgot Chris Warren, handsome, tall and lean with dark hair and eyes. He was just a kid really, not much older than twenty, but he was an odd soul. And theirs was an odd friendship, Chris wasn't much of a talker, and neither was Barten, but they'd both shared a history of bad experiences. And when Barten had been an instructor of young recruits at the Auror Academy he'd met the quiet young man. Seeing as most of Barten's friends were dead or had fled the country, he was in need of a drinking mate.

"S'not so bad Chris," Barten lied quickly, noticing how the younger man seemed to hang hesitantly in the doorway.

"Good," Chirs said enter more into the room, "I really don't want to have to plan your funeral. It'd just be embarrassing if only me and Medi-witch Sledgehammer showed up."

At least the kid was funny.

"I think I'd draw a little more of a crowd."

"If I offered free drinks," Chris said wirily. He took a seat in the only chair and surveyed the damage with blank eyes.

"You could at least pretend it isn't that bad, 'you'll be on your feet in a fortnight Barty' something like that would be cheering," Barten complained as the younger man's grim face didn't lift and an awkward tension remained.

"I was in Hogsmede," Chris said with a frown, "Wouldn't do much good to lie, I thought for sure they'd tossed you on the cart."

Barten's hand twitched, "What happened after..."

Chris smiled faintly, "I suppose you haven't lost your skills as a teacher, one of your students stepped in and fought Voldemort till help arrived, some impressive spell work, or so I'm told."

Barten's lips quirked to hide a smile, "Which student?" But he thought he already knew.

"James Potter," Chris answered without hesitation.

If it was possible to be drawn aback in his condition, Barten might have been. "James Potter?" he said incredulously. "Couldn't have been." He declared without thinking. "He's decent I suppose," He trailed off. His memory of that fight was slightly hazy, but there was only one of his students who he'd bet money could hold his own against a Dark Lord, and it wasn't James Potter.

Chris reached into a pocket and pulled out a rolled up newspaper. "It's been two weeks and he's still in the paper. He's refusing an Order of Merlin for his heroic actions." He tossed the paper to Barten and the man fumbled with raising his arm to study the headline.

"Two weeks," Barten's eyes narrowed. "I've been out..."

Chris remained silent. "From what they told me they put you into some sort of magical coma, some procedure to repair organs..."

"Probably Petty's idea," he cursed."I'll have to speak to Dumbledore I suppose, and see if I still have a job."

Chris chuckled, "I hope so, the Aurors won't take you back."

"Like I'd want to go," Barten said grumpily.

Chris raised his hands, "I'm on your side— " but their old argument feel short as Chris visually bit his lip.

"Err— Trampson was one of the ones who karked it back a Hogsmeade." Chris looked at his hand uncomfortably and Barten also found it difficult to make eye contact.

They'd spent a few drunken evenings complaining over the man's obstinate love of pureblood policy. He'd been one of the people who had been pleased to see Barten quit, after his physical training program requests had been denied. And, despite the current time of war, Trampson and a few others hadn't minded when some of Barten's promising recruits had followed their mentor and left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Still, for all his personality faults, he'd died for his country. Barten wasn't certain what that said about the man.

"Two weeks," Barten mused. He stared at the paper blankly, searching for something to distract himself. "You settle into your new apartment," he asked, remembering the reason why Chris had been at Hogsmeade that day.

Chris shrugged, "You could say that. I picked a place a little less...destroyed by Death Eater attack, it's in London. Sort of different living so close to muggles."

Barten laughed, which caused a throbbing pain in his gut, probably not good. Oh well, he thought absently.

Chris was the only son of a pureblood family. Not prejudiced really, no more than most old pureblood clans were, but he still hadn't had any exposure to Muggle culture until Hogwarts.

Perpetua returned looking just as cross and she was carrying to beakers filled with a grayish sludge.

Chris looked more than amused, "Bottoms up, mate," he encouraged.

Barten heaved a heavy sigh that made his gut ache abominably.

"WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING!" Perpetua yelled and, predictably, all hell broke loose.

-

Albus Dumbledore was a crazy codger, barmy as a one-legged rooster, and several other humorous adjectives as well— but it was probably a little disrespectful to malign a current employer too much. Somehow, despite being stuck in St. Mungo's for almost four months, he'd managed to remain employed at Hogwarts. Perhaps the man really hated looking for Defense professors. Either way, he couldn't help feeling very off put by how his meeting with the headmaster had gone.

The man had been all riddles regarding some facts that the public now considered common knowledge. Like how a slightly better than average wizard like James Potter would be able to fight off a Dark Lord. Especially when Barten knew for damn certain that the last time he'd seen Potter he was hiding behind some debris and shooting off stunning charms.

The Headmaster had also been playing dumb when it came to another young man who, while looking similar to James Potter, was certainly a more interesting variable. Any boy who could produce a fully formed Patronus and fight off the Imperius Curse was certainly a person of interest.

Barten frowned as a tan owl flew back to him, in exactly the same manner as it had for the last few hours. The white envelope it carried was no mystery, and the bird dropped it on his head with more than the needed attitude.

Barten stared at the name written on the envelope grumpily. _Harry Tempus_. It had been the tenth time today he'd tried to have the letter delivered, by three different owls no less, and as of yet the birds had only flown in circles before returning the letter to him. Tempus, an odd name that, but still even without an address an owl shouldn't have any difficulty finding such an individual.

Which only left a couple options available, few of them good.

Still as Barten made his plans for the coming year, and the decisions he'd come to regarding keeping what was left of himself intact, he couldn't help but remember his strange student.

And he wished him well, wherever he was.

-

Barten knocked on the door and then crossed his arms awkwardly. He felt very exposed standing on a muggle doorstep in the middle of Muggle London. And exposed wasn't exactly how he'd like to feel.

After ditching Mungo's, he'd returned to Hogwarts for a bit, and then quickly gone overseas.

And even that had only been just in time. The day after he left it, without his Healer's permission mind you, his room had been destroyed in some sort of fire spell. The poor bloke who'd taken residence after him had been reduced to nothing more than a pile of ashes.

He kicked around in Russia for a bit before stopping in Korea to stay with one of his school chums, Patrick, a clever muggle-born Ravenclaw who had wisely decided to ditch England while the storms raged.

He'd been thinking about taking a job in Japan when he'd received a very strange invitation.

It had been a wedding invitation, and it had finally made it to him three weeks after the date in question. More importantly it had been a muggle invitation, which was what had sparked the concern.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of Christopher Warren and Janet Bennett. _

Bennett, you couldn't find a more muggle name. What in Merlin's name was Chris thinking?

He knocked again, his knuckles rapping the wooden door a little louder this time.

"Did you forget your keys—Oh!?" A young woman stood framed in the doorway dressed in a big faded t-shirt and some boxer shorts.

"Hello," Barten said trying to smile, although it was difficult.

"I'm sorry," she said her cheeks flushing. "I thought you were..."

"Sorry," he apologized, forcing the smile even more. "I was wondering if Chris was in?"

"Are you one of Chris's friends," She seemed surprised at the idea and her eyes lit up with some interest.

"Yes, I've been away, out of the country, I got the wedding invitation late, it took me a bit to get here" He was silenced when she latched onto his arm and dragged him into the apartment.

"Oh this is wonderful," she said and hugged him as well.

Barten felt more than a bit of shock.

"I haven't met any of his friends you see, and the wedding was so small." She moved about the house anxiously. He watched as she picked up some clothes that had been strewn on the floor and she straightened the pillows. "Well, with Chris's family dead, and all I have is my Dad and he's sort of disapproving and all. You know getting married so young, but he's a barrister and what can you expect really?"

She was beautiful, he realized this is an absent way. She had long legs and thick black hair, and her skin was a rich brown, but with a honey golden quality to it. Her eyes were dark, almost black and such thick long lashes. And so soft and warm, like a child's eyes.

But then she likely was a child, or not much of an adult yet at any rate.

"Would you like some tea?" she offered. "Oh, Chris is out for the moment but I'm expecting him home soon."

Barten hesitated for a moment before taking a seat at their small kitchen table.

"Tea would be nice," he relented wearily.

She moved to the kitchen and he watched as she started up the stove and put a kettle on to boil.

"So you were away? Traveling?"

"Something like that," he stated. "I don't think I introduced myself properly, I'm Michael Barten."

"Michael Barten," she said the name aloud in a thoughtful tone. "Chris mentioned you I think, you worked together once."

"Yes, and we became good friends, I'm sorry about missing the wedding it must have been sudden."

The girl laughed, "Yeah well, when you're in love why wait right?" She grew thoughtful for a moment. Her expression seemed to soften.

"It's Janet, right? I have the invitation somewhere," he fiddled in the pockets of his coat.

"Oh yeah," the girl forced a smile back on, "Guess it didn't introduce myself either. You're sort of like Chris, so formal sometimes. Yep Janet Be— I mean Warren."

The kettle whistled and she moved to get it, she poured the hot water into a small teapot and carried it and two cups to the table.

They seemed stuck in a silence while the tea steeped.

"So," he started nervously, "What do you do?"

"I'm studying art history," she provided. She gestured helplessly toward a small desk that was lodged in a corner of their apartment. Barten could see sketches and large sized art books lying around. "Maybe I should be studying just art instead. I love drawing…I'm just not very good at it." She seemed more amused than disappointed about this.

"What is Chris working on now," Barten asked, his question fishing for how much Janet knew about her new husband.

"Oh I don't know," she said, she sounded a little helpless. "Studying engineering or something like that." Her smile faltered a bit, and Barten had the distinct impression that she was well aware that much of her husband was a mystery.

"Babe, I'm back. They were out of that one thing you like, so I got strawberry. You like that right?"

Barten turned to see Chris walk in, he shrugged off a muggle trench coat and turned, his arms filled with grocery bags. The bags dropped from his hands and he seemed to stumble for a moment.

"Barty?" He said, using the old nickname that Barten had developed back in his Auror days.

"Hello Chris," Barten couldn't help the sour tone his voice took.

"Isn't this nice, your friend dropped by," Janet said with a cheerful tone that Barten was growing fond of.

"Yeah, it's been awhile."

It hadn't been that long, Barten thought, a few months, maybe half a year. But seeing Chris made it seem like it had been longer. The young man had cut his hair in a decidedly muggle style and he looked somehow lighter. The premature lines that used to ring his face had faded. He looked like the young man he was.

"Sorry I missed the wedding," Barten offered.

"No," Chris hesitated, "Well, we would have been glad to have you there."

"You want some tea Chris?" Janet said. She looked between the two men, noticing that Chris hadn't reached down to retrieve the groceries, indeed hadn't taken a step closer to his friend. She frowned slightly wondering at the odd reaction.

"Babe, don't you have work?" Chris asked.

Janet glanced at the clock. "Oh no!" she cried. "I still have to take a shower!" She dashed out of the room and through a door that Barten guessed led to their bedroom and bath. But her head popped out a moment later, "Don't go anywhere. I'll get ready really quick and maybe we can still have that tea." Her command seemed important and Barten nodded.

They stood in silence for a moment until they heard the faint sound of the shower running.

"Chris what are you doing?" Barten asked, saying the first thing that had been on his mind since he'd gotten that invitation. It had been the reason he'd left Korea, left his promising job prospect, and finally come back to England.

"What does it look like? I got married."

"To a muggle girl," the room, the girl, everything had made it clear. "She doesn't even know you're a wizard," Barten stated feeling slightly confused.

"Janet and I met, we fell in love and I married her, It's not complicated." Chris bent down and gathered the groceries before walking them to the kitchen keeping his back to Barten.

"Not complicated," Barten repeated, "What world are you living in?"

Chris began putting the things away, his body moving stiffly and he shut the door to the refrigerator with more force than was really needed.

"How can you marry her, what were you thinking, she's a muggle."

"Don't _you_ feed me that pureblood crap, you're a muggleborn yourself," Chris turned to look at him. For a moment the old Chris was back, the frown lines on his face, the dark brooding eyes.

"That's right, I'm a muggleborn, I know better than anyone!" Barten said, he forced his voice to remain low "There are people out there who will hate her, they'll kill her for having the _impunity_ to marry a wizard, a pureblood wizard. How could you bring her into this and not protect her. There aren't even any wards on this flat."

"I don't do magic here. No one knows, she's safe." Chris said his words with a forced confidence.

"That won't work. How could marry her, you know how this world is."

"I love her," Chris said he brushed his hands across his eyes, "She's the first person who has made me want to be alive since my parents died." Chris shook his head, "She's, you've met her. She's so light, and when I'm here there is no war."

"If she means so much to you, then you have to give up the wizarding world, you can't have both," Barten said. He was as certain of this as he was of anything. He stared harshly at Chris, feeling very much like the younger man's father.

"I don't do magic here," Chris said hesitantly.

"I mean nothing," Barten said seriously. "You can't talk to anyone from there, you can't go into the Leaky Cauldron. You can't be alive. If you want to have her, Christopher Warren the wizard has to die."

"I'm not going to abandon my country," Chris said with a scathing glance at Barten.

"And what it that supposed to mean," Barten asked archly.

"You know what it means, you left. You just gave up and decided to let them win. You're a coward."

Barten clenched his jaws fiercely and fought the anger that boiled inside, "I didn't have a choice," he stated. "They were going to kill me, even I'm no good dead. Dumbledore said I should let some time pass."

"When did you ever listen to Dumbledore," Chris demanded.

"When he started making sense," Barten replied with a dark edge to his voice. "This is no subtle war anymore, Voldemort and his idiotic minions are out for blood. They hide amongst us."

"You should still be fighting," Chris said through his teeth.

"What about you, are you going to take the battle to Voldemort's door. Going to take Janet there with you?"

"I'm not _you_," Chris said.

"So it's alright for me to die for the cause!" Barten fumed.

Chris just stared. Barten felt twisted inside. A part of Chris was right, but a part of him was wrong. Christopher Warren, a young man with old eyes. He'd fooled Barten for awhile into thinking that those eyes meant he was all grown-up. But he was still a kid, and he hadn't wanted to know that his heroes were human. Barten was supposed to be some renegade warrior, not a solider who wanted to live to fight another day.

"Maybe you're right, maybe it is. Maybe it's alright for you too. We picked our sides. We didn't have to. No one made us. We chose with our eyes wide open. Can you say the same for her? You're dragging her into a war she doesn't even know exists. A war she can't fight. And what if she has a child? Have you thought of that? Do you want to bring a child into this."

"I know what I'm doing," Chris argued. But his expression seemed to falter some at the thought of a child.

"I hope so," Barten said tiredly. "But someday, if you really love her, then you'll have to leave her. You can have our world or her. You can't have both. I wish we lived in a time when that wasn't true. But it is."

Chris shook his head.

He wasn't going to change his mind. "It's a risk, you shouldn't have married her." Barten repeated the words hoping that some sense would permeate.

The bedroom door opened. Barten was surprised, he had forgotten that anyone was still here. And he realized, absently, that the sound of the shower hadn't been running for a few minutes. Janet's stony expression as she stood awkwardly in plain looking clothes told him she had heard more of his conversation that Chris would like.

"I'm going out," she said, "I'm late for work."

"Janet," Chris said quickly, his expression nervous.

But she shook her head and quickly fumbled with her shoes and a coat before shutting the door behind her.

"Don't ruin this," Chris said with a pleading manner.

Barten felt like a heel, he felt like the guy who told kids there was no Santa. It was true, but no one found any joy in it. He hadn't meant for Janet to hear. She was a good kid, pretty and friendly, artistic and maybe exactly the sort of girl that Chris should be with. Except that she was a muggle, and this wasn't the time for the only son of the pureblood Warren family to marry a muggle.

"Be careful," Barten said softly.

He shook his head. He'd had a lot of friends go out this way, people who had chosen to take risks. It was a recipe for happiness, not survival. But as Barten began to think of his lonely little flat, all the meals he'd eaten alone— what did he know anyway.

-

Osaka was a nice town, big, filled with foreigners. But the sake was good, if sake could ever be good. Frankly he'd prefer a steaming glass of firewhiskey, but it was bloody expensive when it was available at all. And he really needed to be drunk today if he was going make it till the morning, and as he wasn't quite flush with funds— well he had to drink cheap. The strange taste of the sake, made from rice of all things, burned his throat as he downed yet another glass.

"More," Michel Barten requested, tapping the glass on the table and alerting the attention of the blind bartender.

"Too much," the Japanese man muttered under his breath, his English surprisingly good. Still he poured another line of glasses for Barten and moved further along the table to fiddle with an old wireless that was spluttering static.

Barten ignored the man's unobtrusive advice.

He had reason to drink, because life was ugly. It was unfair and hideous and he felt worthless because he couldn't do anything about it. His stomach was rolling and boiling but whether the pain was due to the alcohol he'd drank (which would wreak havoc on his weak stomach) or the anger and rage—that he didn't know.

A coward, Chris had called him that once. He felt like one now, a dirty coward without an ounce of pride.

He was sitting in a rundown pub in the underground magical community of Osaka. He'd been in Japan for a little over six months. He'd taken a job teaching boxing to some Chinese wizards who seemed to think it was a good lark. When that job dried up he'd done some freelance work for the British embassy in Tokyo. Strictly classified, which made it sound exciting but it really wasn't. He'd gotten out of that and excluding other events, maybe he'd still be training at the small dojo that had allowed a British wizard entry, he'd been getting good at the whole meditation thing.

Except a letter had come a few days ago and he'd spent the subsequent time getting thrown out of the various drinking establishments throughout Osaka.

Pepetua was as snarky as she had ever been, and her letter had surprised him. He hadn't heard from her, barely even thought of her, since he'd left England. The letter had been more bad news, of course.

Chris.

What a young idiot. Such a fool, he should have known better.

"They never know better," the blind bartender said from his corner and Barten realized he must have been speaking aloud.

He'd paid for it, stupid twat.

Chris dead.

It's a sick and unfair world we live in.

"Yes, but we get on," the bartender said.

Was the man a mind reader, Barten wondered.

"You've been mumbling," the man said turning back to the wireless.

Barten took another drink and made a sincere effort to keep his internal monologue internal.

Chris dead, what a bloody waste. And the kid, Barten couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the kid. He'd spoken to Chris only a month ago and he'd sworn that the marriage and child were still separate from the wizarding world. Neither knew that the other existed.

But secrets tended to unravel in a war like this. What if someone had found out, would the kid be in danger? And that girl, what had her name been, Jane? No, Janet. She wouldn't even know that there was a danger to protect the kid from.

Maybe he should go back.

He took another hit of the alcohol. "Yeah, that would go over well," he muttered.

He hadn't been real happy the last time they had spoken, mad at Chris really. His second visit had been worse than the first and he'd taken some of his frustration out on her. Janet, warm soul that she was, wouldn't welcome his sudden appearance. Still, if Chris's kid was in danger. What had the boy's name been? A solid sort of name. Dean? Dennis? He was probably a year old now.

"Hey English," the bartender said. "Something on the wire," he pulled the battered wireless closer to Barten. In his drunken stupor he didn't really care what new carnage and destruction was laying waste to his country. Still, he had nothing to distract himself and the crisp sound of another British voice penetrated his sodden brain.

"I repeat, News coming in from our home office in London has reported that You-Know-Who was destroyed last evening at the Potter residence in Godric's Hollow. Information is sketchy at best, but it's suspected that You-Know-Who went to the Potter home with the intention of killing Light proponents James and Lily Potter, a pair who had dropped out of public eye in recent months. James and Lily Potter are recorded as dead at the scene, but —are you sure they got this right Stenson?"

The air went dead for a moment.

"It seems..." the announcer was speaking very slowly now, "That You-Know-Who also chose to attack the Potter's son, one-year-old Harry Potter. However, the killing curse_ rebounded, _striking down the Dark Lord and— I can't believe I'm saying this gents— leaving Harry Potter alive.

"Already the wizarding world is celebrating the end of eleven years of war, and heralding their young hero, The-Boy-Who-Lived."

"Amazing," an heavily accented voice stated on the radio, "Have there been any speculation on how this will effect the young wizard?"

"According to some information leaked from St. Mungo's, all magical diagnostic tests ran after the attack show that the young boy and his magic are in good condition. Seeming no effect, excepting a lighting bolt shaped scar on his forehead."

"Fascinating," the other voice commented, "I am thinking we may expect great things from this Potter."

"Indeed. Once again, for those just tuning in You-Know-Who was destroyed last— "

Barten let the repeating message drift away as his sluggish mind mulled over the startling news. He felt as if he'd been shocked sober, or at least he felt more steady than he had in a few days. How could things change so quickly, it seemed impossible. And all due to some infant—James Potter's son of all things. And James dead, and that wife of his, good girl.

James Potter. Lighting bolt scar.

Suddenly Barten was laughing. His voice echoed throughout the small pub and its patrons turned to look at him before going back to their own business. The blind bartender had taken a few steps toward him, probably wondering if the English wizard had drunken himself crazy. And maybe he had lost his mind, because he could swear...

"Ha ha ha, that bloody bastard."

Barten got to his feet, standing rather steadily and threw a few galleons on the bar.

Maybe this old world wasn't worth giving up on after all.

---

I've been preoccupied with other things lately, am currently finishing up a Twillight fanfic which I hope to be publishing soon, and haven't worked on this as much as I would have liked. So I present a pre-betaed version of this chapter to amuse you. I hope it begins to explain some the questions regarding Barten and Dean Thomas.


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